Cigarettes and Salvation
by Roaddog 469
Summary: Daryl finds an attack survivor looking for a way out. Not a smut fic, just survivors surviving. Rating for language really more than anything else. One-shot.


***Author's Note: I went to a class for work about a year ago, and they told me that the campus had gone 'No Smoking'. I was disappointed, not so much because I couldn't smoke, but because how was I gonna know who to make friends with. Most smokers will tell you that there are no strangers on a smoker's bench. So I was watching my Walking Dead dvds the other day, I watched 'Vatos' and enjoyed that glimmer of caring in Darryl when Glenn got snatched and then when they found the truck missing, then I watched the special features and saw Reedus smoking, and a fleeting thought of 'See, me and Reedus would be friendly' and hence a plot bunny was hatched. Hope y'all enjoy! As always reviews are welcome, flames…not so much.***

I used to love the sound of the rain. Curl up on the couch with a good movie or a good book. Curl up in bed, even, with a good man (if one happened to be around that day). Drink a cup of hot tea, sit under a blanket, and listen to the sounds. The solid tapping of the water as it hit the roof, washing everything clean. The smell of burning ozone as electricity found its way to ground, the slight tremble in old windows as the wind and thunder raged outside. Hypnotic, peaceful even.

I used to love the sound of the rain…about a thousand years ago. Now? In the midst of the walker apocalypse? It sets my teeth on edge. It was the rain last night that had killed me. Outside of the city, I had let my guard down, allowed myself to relax a little, just being out of the hot zone. Mistake one. Mistake two? Pretending for even a few minutes that I was still in a world where a person could sit and listen to the rain hitting the leaves. If it hadn't been raining, I might have heard the approach. I sighed at that thought. Not much use in it now. It had been raining and I hadn't heard them come up on me. Stupid. I glanced sideways at my pack and all of the useless supplies inside of it. I had been set up pretty good. Wouldn't have had to worry about restocking for a while, and now? I shook my head at myself in disgust. Dumbass.

I was running a hand back through my filthy hair, when I heard a twig snap. _Sure, heard that did ya_? **Oh shut up. **Coming closer, through the trees. Not another walker. These steps were steady, determined, not the mindless shuffling of the dead. Please, God, let them have a weapon.

He did. My eyes, fuzzy though they were getting with fever, had been staring out into the darkness around my campsite since dark fell over three hours ago. As a result, I could make out his shape through the trees. Dark hair, sleeves cut off of his shirt, jeans, boots. Not overly burdened with muscles, but well enough endowed on his slender frame. Wiry, I believe is what you would call him. He was slowly stalking closer, his face a series of lines set in determination, intent on his hunt. His body as tense as the string stretched tight across his crossbow.

_Just hope he's a good shot_, I decided as I silently moved my hands to the two rocks I had set out for just such an occasion. Lifting them, I saw his finger tighten on his trigger in response to the tiny noise the movement had made. _Please, God,_ I thought, slamming the rocks together in front of my face and then dropping them, I closed my eyes and prepared for it to end.

But it didn't. Opening one eye then the other, I saw that he had turned to me and had the bolt dead center to my face, but he hadn't pulled the trigger and now that his eyes were focused on me, it didn't look like he was going to. I ***still looked*** human, after all. I huffed a breath out of my nose, "Fucking figures," I said, realizing after it came out that I had just quoted the last lines of one of my favorite zombie survivors and I laughed a little.

"What's funny?" he asked, his accent sounded a little different from mine, like most Georgian's did. Most people didn't realize that even from state to state we southerners didn't sound alike.

"Nothin'." I replied, shaking my head. "Inside joke." 

He inched closer, his eyes now adjusted, getting used to the surroundings. "You ain't but a little slip of a thing," he said, his aim dropping slightly. "You out here alone?" He asked glancing around a little. I nodded slightly. Suspicion crept into his voice. "Sittin' out here alone, in the dark, good way to get yourself shot."

"Kinda what I was hoping for," disappointment clear in my voice now. "Figured if I made a sudden noise, somebody'd shoot without thinking, save us both a heap of trouble. Just my luck I catch the one considerate hunter in the whole damn state." He took another step in my direction. "I wouldn't come too close," I said, my eyes focused on his boots, which stopped abruptly about three feet from me. I heard him swallow, reflexively, his finger tightening on the trigger once again. At my feet was a nearly empty pack of Marlboros and I reached slowly for them. Extracting one with my teeth, I packed it against my thumbnail, and looked up at him while lighting it. The tiny flame from the lighter illuminated my face, flushed with fever, my eyes glassy with it.

He took two steps backwards. "You're burning up."

"Tell me about it," I said dragging heavy, breathing smoke out of my nose. I reached behind me to the small lantern in my tent. Turning the knob just a little, I illuminated a small patch around myself scattered with dead walkers.

"Jesus," he said stepping further back, aiming at each one in turn.

"Relax," I said, taking another drag, "They're finished. I should know," I said reaching under my blanket and pulling out my own gun.

"Careful, now," he said, aiming at me, reacting to the gun.

"Why?" I asked, eyeing him fiercely, "You gonna shoot me?" I asked raising the pistol to my temple and pulling the trigger, listening to that frustratingly somber click as the pin struck an empty chamber. I dropped the useless thing, disgusted and took another drag of my cigarette. Shaking my head, "Felt a little like Dirty Harry when the damn thing clicked empty the first time. Didn't think I had fired that many times, but…" I trailed off.

"Not lucky, punk," he whispered.

I laughed a little through my nose, "Yeah, something like that." Looking up I saw him following the cigarette in my hand as it travelled to my lips and back. I smiled, "You look like a smoker, here," I said rifling in my backpack, coming out with two more packs. "Haven't even broke the plastic on 'em." I tossed them close to his boots.

He eyed them with suspicion, but being an addict myself I knew that he would take them. He just needed a second to think about it. I helped him make his decision by blowing smoke in his direction. I watched him inhale with something close to lust in his eyes before he squatted down on his heels, elbows on his knees, picking up a pack out of the dirt and unwrapping the cellophane like a kid on Christmas morning. "Use your lighter?" he asked, leaning his crossbow against his leg, still within a second's reach.

"Sure," I said, tossing it. He caught it deftly, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Holding the smoke for a few seconds before slowly exhaling, a silly little grin on his dirty face, as he slumped back onto his butt. I smirked and looked down at my own hands, nodding at his thanks when he finally got his voice back.

"They're still fresh. How'd you manage that?" he asked, conversationally.

"Hit a house, just inside the city limits as I was coming out of Atlanta. Gas powered genny had run out of juice a while before I got there, I think, but there was this chest freezer and just under the layer of food that was starting to turn, there was half a carton of those. Still just chilled."

"Surprised nobody else had found 'em," he said, dragging deeply.

"Well," I said, "the guy had shot himself in his kitchen, had somehow fallen over onto the freezer. Scavengers had hit the house and stripped it of pretty much everything else, but I guess nobody wanted to move that body."

"But you did?" he asked, his voice a little unbelieving.

I smirked. "I worked in a hospital lab about a thousand years ago, rot and dead don't bother me much, I guess."

"What were you doing in Atlanta? You ain't from here."

"Nah," I said, shaking my head, slightly. "Texas. Was starting a new job in the city. Had just come back to the hotel from my first day of orientation when a walker chomped on this guy that was taking my cab. Cabby took off. The guy went down, the walker on top of him and I ran like a little bitch. Into the hotel. Watched the news, saw what was going on and decided I wasn't going anywhere. Only about two days after that the tvs went down."

"That was a month ago," he said crushing out his cigarette into the damp mossy ground. "Where you been since?"

"I was new in town. Flew in, took a cab from the airport. I had no clue how to even start to get out of town. And you'd be surprised how much stuff there is in a hotel. They're fairly secure. Well stocked kitchens. Groundskeeping crew had some heavy swinging weapons. I just holed up."

"Can't think I'da wanted to stay in the city."

"Honestly, I figured eventually they'd start dying off. I mean, less food, eventually they'd start to drop. But," I said, pulling another cigarette out, and motioning for the lighter. He lit one of his own, before tossing it across. "That didn't happen."

"What made you finally leave?"

I met his eyes. "I'm gonna ask you to kill me." He nodded simply, the request wasn't news. He had known what I was waiting for sitting in the dark. He understood. e He "You really wanna know all this?"

He shrugged. "Hate smoking alone."

I nodded. "Got a call from my mom. Two days before the cell towers crashed. I told her not to worry. That I'd come and save them. She told me," the mucus caught solid in my throat and I couldn't talk around it for a second. I swallowed reflexively several times, trying to clear it, I crushed out the cigarette butt before continuing. "They lived in the country, her and my dad, and she told me that there were walkers in the pastures around them. Only a matter of time 'fore they got to the house." I looked up at him, his eyes were serious, smoke drifting out from between his lips. "My dad was sick, had been for a long time, on oxygen, ya know? There was no way they could run." I broke from his stare, looking off into the darkness. "She had just called me to tell me that they loved me and that I should try to keep myself safe. There was going to be no need for me to come back for them."

Despite the thickness in my throat, I desperately wanted another cigarette and I lit one, coughing. "They had talked about it, see. Decided on the 45 millimeter solution. Take themselves out of my equation." I inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, silent for a minute. "I wanted to tell them not to do it, but I couldn't, you know?" I asked meeting his solid gaze once more. "I told them I loved them too. Didn't know what else to say. We hung up. I tried calling back the next day. No answer. Then the cell phones went dead." I paused, wiping my face with the back of my hands. Moisture was running down my cheeks, but I honestly couldn't tell if it was tears or sweat from the fever. "That was when I started waiting for the geeks to die off, so I could go home, and at least bury them on our land. They would have liked that, I think." I shook my head. "Now I won't even be able to do that."

"Damn shame," he said, genuinely. We were both quiet for a minute. "So what happened here?" he asked gesturing at the corpse-filled campsite.

I looked sideways at him. "You sure ask a lot of questions of someone whose brain you're gonna put an arrow through."

He shrugged. "I'd want someone to do the same for me if I was in your spot, and I'd want someone to know what had happened to me."

"Besides, you don't like smoking alone." One side of his mouth curled up in what could have been a smile. "Kinda stupid really," I said, leaning back. "This I mean, It was raining, and I hadn't been in a real rainstorm outside of the city since all this shit started, so I was standing out in it. With the rain and the thunder, I couldn't hear them moving in on me. One had hold of my arm before I knew what was happening, another had my hair, trying to get at my neck. I managed to pull free, get my pistol out of my jeans, started shootin'. The last one was a crawler, didn't even see him till it was too late. Felt something around my leg, tried to pull back, fell over a rock, felt the bone crack, fired blind, caught it in the mouth, fired again, got the brain. At first I was hoping that the pain was all from the broken bone, but," I pulled up the leg of my jeans, exposing the bite, "it wasn't." I pulled hard on my cigarette, before putting it out. "I knew what was coming. Said a little prayer, took the gun, put it to my head, pulled the trigger. Started crying when I realized I was out of ammo. Can't walk. Can't shoot myself. I guess I could have slit my wrists, but it wouldn't stop me from coming back. I have a skinning knife, but…I may be hardcore, but even I can't jam a knife into my own eye and hope that I hit brain." I paused, not sure what else there was to say. "So," I said, finally, my hands out in a gesture of question.

"So," he said, standing, closing the pack and making a motion to toss it back to me.

"Keep 'em," I said raising my hands, "Here," I said tossing the lighter, "that too. It's not like I'm gonna need 'em," a hint of laughter in my voice as he lifted the crossbow, giving it a once over. I watched him closely, he really seemed attached to it, and I hoped, ridiculously, that killing me wouldn't damage the bolt. He seemed fairly adept, though. Figured he had probably done this before. "Also, feel free to go through everything I got, I was pretty well set up, hate for it to go to waste."

"Obliged," he said, looking over my shoulder into the tent. "Afterwards, I'll, um, well I'll put you in your sleeping bag and well," he cleared his throat, looking away, "burn it."

"Oh," I exclaimed, realizing as I did, that it made sense. "Yeah," I said, nodding, "that's, um, that's a good idea." I blinked hard as a wave of dizziness hit me, blurring my vision, chilling my body even as it burned from the inside out.

"You ok?" he asked, standing over me, the crossbow once again raised to the ready.

I inhaled deeply, shaking my head, "No," I answered. "I don't feel so hot. I think you'd better," I nodded at the bow in his hands.

He nodded in acknowledgement. I dropped my head, breathing deep several times, running a prayer through my mind, before lifting my eyes to meet his. Now that he was close enough, I could see the color of them. Not quite grey, not quite blue. Serious. Hard. A survivor. Fate had sent me the right man for this, I had no doubt. "What's your name?"

"Darryl," he answered, his voice hard.

I nodded. "Thanks, Darryl. I wish we'd met under better circumstances." I put my hand out to shake his, but he edged away, and I nodded, raising my hand palm out in a no-offense taken gesture. I bit my bottom lip and looked up at him, exhaling. I closed my eyes and felt a tear slip out, wondering if I would hear the twang when he loosed the bolt.

I didn't.


End file.
